


how it starts

by xdarksistahx



Series: A Song of Ice and Fire: Mafia [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Meetings, Mafia AU, Westeros Crime Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 10:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdarksistahx/pseuds/xdarksistahx
Summary: Robb Stark fills in for his father at the city's annual charity ball and crosses paths with Margaery Tyrell for the first time.





	how it starts

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place before the events of It's Only Me & You.

Charity Balls— pretentious affairs where wealthy people flock together to show off and pretend to care about the less fortunate. They’re the bane of most people’s existence. Eddard Stark is one of those people, which is why this year he’s sending his son and heir, Robb, in his place.

Robb makes no complaints. Not to his father’s face, that is. He definitely gripes about it to Jon for most of the day, and reluctantly goes to his fitting appointment with the tailor they rarely use. They aren’t like the pretty boys in the southern territory. Their clothes aren’t hand-stitched and overly expensive.

They are simple people with simple tastes.

Now, that’s the sort of mindset people expect Robb to have, but the truth is, he’s always envied the flashy southerners. He’s always yearned for more than the dullness of his surroundings.

Every time he turns around he sees Loras Tyrell or Viserys Targaryen on the cover of some magazine being praised for their fashion sense and overall desirability. They’ve even done runway shows on occasion. Robb could easily follow in their footsteps. Hell, he likes to think he could do it better than them. But his father prefers for them to keep a low profile as not to draw attention to their illegal business.

He understands that. At the same time, he disagrees. They’re only smuggling goods in and out of the city while the other, main families have their hands in what he and Jon like to call the “real shit.”

Yet they’re always in the public eye.

“Robb Stark, don’t you look dashing.”

Speaking of one of the devils. Viserys Targaryen slides into the barstool beside him, waving the bartender over. They’re both wearing standard, black tuxedos but Viserys is wearing a dragon lapel pin to set him apart from the rest.

Robb sees how red Viserys’s eyes and nose are. So, the rumors are true. He gets high off his own supply. A pity. 

“Last I heard you were dealing with some trouble in Essos,” Robb says, picking up his glass of bourbon. A glass he shouldn’t have considering the legal drinking age in Westeros is twenty-one and he’s barely eighteen. But who’s going to stop him? “The Faceless Men are a nasty bunch, I hear.”

After receiving his drink, Viserys spins around on his barstool, facing the crowd. He’s closely watching someone across the room. “My brother and I took care of it. Don’t worry your pretty little head over me.”

Robb grabs his drink and spins around to see who Viserys is so enraptured by. This is their first time having an actual conversation. They’ve spoken in passing here and there, briefly. He’s heard so many rumors about the man that he expected a raging lunatic with a nasty attitude. Not whatever it is sitting next to him.

Also, did Viserys call him pretty?

Robb will accept the compliment. He hopes the reporters there got a lot of good pictures of him, too. It’s not often that he puts a tuxedo on. He thinks he likes how they fit him.

“Who’s that?” Robb asks, finally seeing what has Viserys’s attention.

Viserys looks at Robb as if he’s an idiot. Then he sighs, “I have to remind myself that you northerners hardly leave your barns. That’s Arianne Martell. She’s the head of the Martell family.”

The girl, Arianne, is covered from head to ankle in a veil. Only her eyes are visible. She’s talking to the mayor and other politicians. Two intimidating Dornish men are flanking her. Robb knew she’d somewhat taken over after her father fell ill, but he’d never seen her before. He doesn’t even see her now.

“Is there a reason why she’s covered?” Robb asks.

Disregarding the question, Viserys spins his barstool again, facing Robb. He stares at him hard for a long minute. Robb stares back. Maybe he’d spoken too soon about the man not having a nasty attitude. If Viserys is trying to pick a fight, he won’t back down. The idea of it excites him, really. He’s always open to a good fight.

Suddenly, Viserys rolls his eyes. “You’re terribly straight.” Then he takes out a couple of bills, places them on the bar, and leaves.

Robb chuckles to himself. He downs the rest of his drink and decides to mingle a little before making a donation for his family and leaving. This event is boring.

In the midst of mingling, Robb draws the attention of an older woman who makes it clear that she’d love to have him as a sugar baby, another married woman hits on him in front of her husband, and the mayor’s mistress slips him her number written on a hotel’s business card. He wonders if it’s the same hotel where she and the mayor meet.

He’s contemplating going home with one of the women - preferably the sugar momma- when she shows up. She, the woman who literally struts up to him, takes him by the hand and drags him out to the dance floor.

“Put your arms around me,” she orders quietly. “Quickly.”

Robb does what he’s told. He puts his arms around her slim waist, hands touching her smooth back that’s completely exposed. They easily fall into the basic waltz and move around the floor with the other dancers.

Margaery Tyrell, another fashion icon who frequently graces the cover of both distinguished magazines and tabloids. To everyone else, she and her brother are just another pair of attractive rich kids. But to them, the people in their world, they’re third on the international assassin's list.

“I’m trying to avoid a pesky suitor,” Margaery explains. She twines her arms around Robb’s neck, smiling up at him as though she were enamored. “I could kill him but Grandmother told me to play nice.”

Robb shakes himself out of his trance. He returns the smile so that whoever’s watching them will believe they’re together. “What does our friend look like?” he asks.

“Like Mr. Peanut.”

Spinning them around, Robb scans the crowd to find the man she’s referring to. When he does, he chuckles, “Seven hells, he does look like Mr. Peanut!” The man’s even wearing a monocle and a top hat. “Mr. Peanut looks like he wants to murder me.”

Margaery begins playing with Robb’s earlobe. He can’t tell if it’s all for show or not. “I’m sure you can protect yourself against him. That’s why I chose you.”

“So it wasn’t my dashing good looks then?”

“Perhaps.”

It was definitely his good looks. 

Robb keeps his hands at a respectable level, and he doesn’t return her gestures of affection despite how badly he wants to. She’s playing with the hairs at the back of his head, twirling them around her slender finger, and occasionally laying her head on his shoulder or caressing her cheek against his.

The scent of her floods his senses until she’s the only thing he can think about and crave. Every spin and twirl around the dance floor, the line between real and pretend is blurred. Margaery has this intenseness about her. It’s evident in the way she stares at him dead in the eyes, unblinking and unafraid. They do all of their communicating through eye contact alone. He feels a pull between them and she feels it too.

Lust or love, neither of them are sure but it’s potent and uncontrived.

Mr. Peanut has long given up on his pursuit of her yet they don’t break apart for a very long time. The image of the ballroom fades away, the hum of the background noises disappears. It’s just him and her and whatever the fuck’s forming between them.

An announcement is made informing them of the upcoming speech by the guest of honor. While everyone crowds around the stage, Robb and Margaery sneak upstairs. None of the offices are unlocked so they find privacy in a dark supply closet.

In here, Robb doesn't mind his hands or worry about if the flashing cameras are aimed at them or not. He presses her against the door and kisses her, uncaring about getting lipstick everywhere, his hands messing up her pretty hair. She snakes her hands under his blazer, rubbing his sides and moving to his back to pull him closer to her. The kiss deepens and she moans in his mouth, the sound traveling through him, straight to his cock.

Robb grabs a handful of her ass and bites her lip, startling them both. He apologizes because proper girls like Margaery aren’t usually into that sort of thing. He isn’t really into that sort of thing. At least he doesn’t think he is.

“No, it’s fine,” Margaery says, kissing him. She bites his lip, pulls the throbbing flesh into her mouth, and sucks on it while she works the belt of his pants.

Robb reaches out to touch her, anywhere. He loses sight of that goal when her hand slips in his pants. His mouth parts in a silent moan. His voice is found once she starts nibbling on his ear as she works his cock with her hand better than he’s ever done on his own. She knows exactly how and when to grip, the amount of necessary pressure, and other small things that have his balls tightening far too soon.

“We don’t want to alert the guests,” Margaery whispers to him.

Robb can hear her smile. She’s amused by how easily she can unravel him. He kisses her to shut himself up and resumes his previous conquest. He yanks down the straps of her dress, pulling it down to her hips. If it wasn’t so dark in there he imagines the sight of her would’ve been something to behold. But that’s one of the downsides of having sex in a supply closet. Robb will take what he can get for now.

Lowering his head, he kisses and sucks on her nipples. They’re sweet like her lips. He bets the rest of her is sweet, too. He ghosts his fingers over her ribcage, gradually moving his hands up to cup her breasts. Margaery holds the back of his head with her free hand, encouraging him, softly moaning his name.

Everything she does is with intention. The sexy way she says his name as if he’s the only man she’s ever wanted or needed. Robb knows better than that, though. But he won’t deny that he likes the idea of being that important to her. Her fingers are playing with his hair again. Earlier he found it endearing. Now it makes him want to fuck her silly against the door.

Or on the floor.

Robb tries to move them to the floor. There’s enough space.

“I’m not getting on that dirty floor,” Margaery says. She shoves him back against the wall across the small room. “Do you think you’re strong enough to lift me?”

Again, Robb doesn’t need to see her to know she’s smiling. He doesn’t entertain the question with a verbal response. Instead, he just shows her.

Margaery, for all of her talk about alerting the guests, is a screamer. Granted, Robb does have her bent like a folding chair as he fucks her against the wall. Still, she begs him to fuck her harder, faster, deeper.

“I like the mouth on you,” Robb growls in her ear. He licks the sweat from her neck and thrusts into her harder, making her voice catch in her throat.

“Y-you’ll fall in love with my mouth once you learn all the things it can do,” she says, the overpowering lust making her sound inebriated.

All of his kissing and shushing does nothing to quiet her. He gets a twisted idea to stuff his pocket square in her mouth, but he wouldn’t want to offend her.

Then the funniest thing happens.

Margaery takes the pocket square out herself and does exactly what Robb considered doing. Somehow her muffled moans are sexier. Probably because of the secrecy aspect and how scandalizing it is for them to be doing this, at a charity ball no less. She’s southern royalty, Highgarden’s beloved heiress yet, for this short moment, she’s all his.

Robb made the mistake of keeping his dress shirt on now the end of it is getting wet. He tries to hold it under his chin, but he’s greedy. He can’t keep his mouth off of her so the shirt is constantly falling. Margaery holds it up for him. With it out of the way, he can really get into it, really fuck her silly as he intended.

And she uses his shirt like reins, using it to control his thrusts.

So, she’s the domineering type. Robb can get behind that. Doesn’t matter much to him either way. It’s too good to worry about who’s holding the reins. But Margaery acts as if her trust in men is fragile and she has to rely on herself to get off.

Robb slips his hand between them, thumbing her clit. He can tell the action both surprises and pleases her. She loosens up on his shirt, trusting him to take care of her needs as well as his own. And he does.

Robb finds himself regretting for the second time that night. If it weren’t for the bloody pocket square he could’ve better heard what she sounds like when she orgasms. Instead, he got the watered-down version of it. No matter. He’ll just have to make sure they can do this again. On a bed preferably. He wants to see her beautiful body spread out and open for him. He wants to see the faces she makes when he’s deep inside of her.

“Fuck,” Robb curses, feeling his balls tighten; an uncomfortable prelude to a sweet release. He tries to pull out.

Margaery holds him in place. “No cum on the dress,” she says, breathing heavily. “It’s an exclusive design.”

For the first time ever, Robb laughs while he cums. Gods, he’s never in his life met anyone like her. When it’s over, he helps her stand on her wobbly legs. She makes a joke about how she’ll walk out of the closet looking like a baby doe. She’ll have him laughing all night if they don’t part ways soon.

Robb doesn’t want to part ways yet.

“I can carry you,” he offers.

“The media will eat that up.” Margaery lightly shoves him away and starts pulling her dress up. “Do I have to give you the talk?” she asks. “This was a one-time thing.” 

“That’s my line,” he chuckles. “Trust me, the last thing I need or want is a relationship.”

“Good. Now get out.”

“Take my number down first.”

“I don’t want your number.”

Robb can hear that smile again. He smiles, too. “Enough with the games, love. We can save ourselves a lot of trouble if we get this out of the way.”

Margaery is quiet. Too quiet.

He searches for his pants, finding his phone. He uses the light from it to see her face. Even with her hair all over her head and her red lipstick smudged, she’s gorgeous. She looks as if she’s seriously contemplating this. They’re from two different worlds, their families care nothing for one another, and they’re both too involved with their family's business to focus on anything else. But there’s a desire for a genuine connection there, as well. What they felt on that dance floor wasn’t only lust.

“If you text or call me too much I’ll block you,” Margaery says, snatching his phone from him to key her number in. “And we meet up on my terms only.”

“Fine with me.”

Numbers are exchanged. No promises of staying in touch are made but Robb knows he’ll hear from her soon. They don’t talk anymore after that. They just get dressed and kiss again before parting ways. 


End file.
